


I Don't Know What I Want

by collapsed (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Booty Calls, Bruising, Christmas Gift for the author, Cunnilingus, FTM Karkat Vantas, Humanstuck, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Oral Sex, Other, Sex, have fun ya filthy animals, negative self image
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2856572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/collapsed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's two AM and you aren't sleeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Know What I Want

**Author's Note:**

> Smut written as a Christmas gift (one day late) for the author at (you can figure it out *wonk*).

It's two AM and you aren't sleeping. It isn't all that surprising, considering all you've done all day is sit around and play Call of Duty, spending your energy solely on yelling at assholes via XBox Live, whilst depleting Aradia's snack food stock. Oh, and don't forget you spent the other half of your day hiding, working out in your room, because Gamzee's decided to pay a visit. Again. He hasn't left yet, and so far, it didn't sound like he'd be leaving until the morning, at best. What-the-fuck-ever.

The air is cool coming in the window, airing out your room from the smell of sweat and weed. It's still late summer, but the nights have started to cool off a bit. You are covered in a thin sheen of sweat, gross from having worked out until exhausted, but you still can't relax. The blankets are tangled around your feet, boxers twisted around your waist, your binder still firm against your chest. You sigh a deeper breath than was comfortable, grunting at your inability to get your muscles to stop tensing. You didn't want to continue doing anything though.

Tomorrow you would need to kick your lazy ass out of bed and get to work sketch-designing a website for a client, but that's tomorrow. Tomorrow as in not today, it is two AM in the morning _today,_ Sunday _._ Maybe you should just get up and work on it now, as you are actively thinking about it. But that would involve going out into the living room/dining room to get the best signal to make sure nothing crashes while you work. Pain in the ass, cheap internet. You weren't going out there. You knew Gamzee and Tavros are currently crashed on the couch, all tuckered out from having sex whilst high, shortly after Aradia had fallen asleep. He had this way with her that always got her to fall asleep when he said she should.

Hell, Gamzee has this way with everybody, pulling wool over their eyes and getting them to trust him. Of course weed helped with that, you knew personally what it did, and how people saw him though that skunk-scented, green hazed, high. No one cared. The only person who saw straight through Gamzee was Dave; he never trusted Gamzee, knew he was bad news from the moment they had meant. Of course Gamzee wasn't always that way, but his dad was, and you suppose apples really do never fall far from the tree.

Makes you question how you might turn out, despite your own parents shortcomings. You'd like to think that genetics would make you more like your mother, who was far better than your father, despite being trans male. Kind and strong, like she had been, but unlike her, strong enough to not take any shit. Like the shit currently being handed to you on a silver platter, from the two motherfuckers on your couch.

You sit up on your bed and pull the thin top sheet around your shoulders and bury your head in between your knees. Fuck. You didn't want to deal with this, with them. At first Gamzee and Tavros's visits were only once in a while. Now once-in-a-while meant almost every night. Even after you had told him to leave and stay gone, he kept coming back and you weren't sure why. Whatever love you had for him, friendship or romantic or otherwise, was long gone, replaced by hate. He had used you and abused you and then kicked you out when he decided he was done with you. Despite his promise.

It still hurt.

It hurt and you couldn't even talk to your sister about it, even though you knew she had gone through some of the same relationship shit you had. It would make her unhappy and worried and she had enough on her plate just trying to keep herself together. Your job here was to help keep her together. Aradia didn't need your shit on top of everything else, so you didn't tell her that Gamzee used to be the reason that she begged you to come live with her when she saw bruises on your face over Skype. His friendship and drugs made her happy and sane.

_But what about your sanity, man?_

Dave's voice rang in your mind with the question he had asked last time you'd seen him. You had been so upset over something, you didn't even remember now. Aradia had done something. And he had held you close and comforted you, something no one had dared do for a long time after you had established you didn't like to be touched. But that wasn't entirely true now, was it? You loved human contact, physical comfort.

_You deserve to be happy too._

Your mind started racing in circles. Why should it matter? Aradia was happy you were happy. You avidly tried to change your course of thought, think of something proactive you could do, because you sure as hell aren't sleeping tonight. But anything involved possibly running into Gamzee and Tavros on the couch. Dammit.

Dammit, dammit.

Two fucking fifteen in the morning is not the time to think. This endless train of thought led to circles of self-hatred and depression that you need to avoid. Everything suddenly seems incredibly loud in your mind, thoughts chasing one another trying to find their way to the forefront of your brain and make you feel like shit. You held your head in between your hands feeling the accompanying tension headache grow.

You decided to focus on right now: you were worried about Aradia, and despite trying to shove it: you were angry, and tired, at yourself and the purple fucker in your apartment that was causing you to panic and fall apart and there was no way in hell you were sleeping. You wanted something to do to distract you, or at least someone to talk to.

In a stroke of realization, you realize that you very, very, lonely.

You had been exiled to your room because all your enemies, both real and imagined, existed just beyond your bedroom door. The service and wireless connection was beyond shitty in here, but it didn't much matter. You had no other person to talk to, and nowhere to go to get away from here. You have plenty of acquaintances, but through your own unintended introversion, not many you'd call friends.

Your own mind mocks you, _“But that's not entirely tru_ _e_ _now, is it?”_

Before you know it your phone is at your ear, not even registering that the first number on top of your previous calls list might not even be Dave. But you know it is. It always is. The call hangs up because the service never fails to be at it's worst right when you need it. You swear violently underneath your breath and try again, moving to the window to get the best reception, and a breath of clean air. It's funny cause you thought you would never find solace in Terezi's ex-boyfriend, ever, you had hated him, but turns out you had never been more wrong in your life. Your swearing turns into praying, praying that the call would get the hell through. You needed something. Dave was always your best option.

…

It's somewhere around two AM and you aren't sleeping. You are sitting at your desk, doodling in your sketchbook, enjoying the breeze your fan was giving you, bringing the cooler air in from outside. You aren't sleeping even though you totally could be, but there are currently a couple thoughts on your mind you'd rather actively think about right now. Besides, you took a really long nap after your excursion through downtown this morning to take photographs from dawn until the heat was too much at noon. It may be autumn, but damn it still gets too hot.

So thinking about the cutie that was Karkat took over sleep. Also about whether or not you should call him. Last time you had seen him, you had hugged him close and offered him some consolation. He'd been upset about Aradia's passing joke about taking LSD. She'd been kidding, but his anxiety had hit the roof and you could see it. You took in the dark under eye circles, the trembling hands and the quaver to his usual chuckle and gotten him out of there. Everyone was in your apartment to say goodbye to John, who's visit had been cut short by an emergency at work in Washington state, so you asked Karkat to come see some of the photos in your dark room. You think John might have been the only other person other than yourself who knew you had actually finished developing all the photos earlier, lest one of your more idiotic friends manage to wander there way in there thinking it was a bathroom and destroy all your hard work (Tavros).

It took him forever to come down from his anxiety attack, and then longer still to stop shaking. It shook you too, seeing him like that, but you were grateful. Trusting you in that moment might have been the most open he's ever been with you. He'd been so high strung lately and you managed to calm him down and give him some advice. He'd smiled at you and told you thank you.

Your heart pushed into overdrive since and hadn't stopped. Your doodles quickly turn from scenery and random shit to his face and his smile. You even forgot to cover up your smile that day with it's usual cocky smirk, and later when Rose had asked about the tear-stained shirt, you stumbled to tell her it was from the bath for the photos.

“Sure.” she had said. It's not like you really care that she knew or not (snarky broad always knew) you and she were tight, but you hoped, for Karkat's sake, that she asked so she could spread the lie around instead.

You wanted to date him so bad. You knew you couldn't cure his depression and anxiety with just a kiss, but still, to have him within your reach and hold him when he needs it, or when he wants it; to always be his shoulder to cry on. You wanted to be that trust for him, earn that trust from him. But also to be there whenever he smiles. They were rare, but usually happened when he got some difficult coding right, and sometimes when you made shitty jokes. Jokes you made because you knew he'd find them funny. And always when he thought no one was looking, like being happy was forbidden. You sighed and shifted to catch the breeze from your window to avoid dripping sweat on the pencil drawing of Karkat's face.

Your conscious warns you that you only started hanging out with him because of your mutual distress over Terezi's death, which was kind of a shitty reason to get to know him. Not to mention that you had mutually hated each other because you both liked Terezi, and you won the girl. Or you thought you did until you found out after her death she had been cheating on you with Gamzee. Those three were such a mess, and to be honest, even though you had been dating Terezi, you were just a bystander to their wonky triangle, three-way, love affair, mess. But after being separated from everything he knew for a year, it had helped him to finally have someone to talk to, and helped you too. You found out that repairing hearts was easier when someone knew what you were going through almost word for word, and was kind of cute too boot.

But there was no point being sad _like a teenager_ _watch_ _ing_ _rom-coms_ _now, Strider,_ you chided yourself. You were confident in your love for Karkat, yes, head over heels in love. How to go about asking him out though was hard. _(There ya go sad and pining again Strider. That didn't take long,_ you thought.) You had no honest idea how asking for a simple date would go down. You knew him from top to bottom, including all the mushy romance shit he loved, but all that shit with Gamzee and Terezi is what gave him social anxiety in the first place, and why he spent most of his time alone. You wouldn't be surprised if he rejected you because he'd think you were joking.His self hated ran so deep that it could rival the Marina Trench.

It hurt you to see him talk about himself like that. You remind yourself that a relationship wouldn't solve anything, it never does. But you wish that maybe it meant you would be able to show him that he was a kind and beautiful person. Maybe he'd learn to love himself a little bit. Maybe.

However he hasn't contacted you since the darkroom incident, and he hadn't answered your couple of texts, sent about three days ago. Maybe you should see if he's... speak of the devil.

Your phone goes off, the Pirates of the Caribbean theme that lets you know he's the one calling. (You had joked once with him it was because he reminded you of all those crabs in the beginning of the third movie. He laughed and supposed it was because of his star sign, and it was partially right, but more because they were strong and clever, just like he was (god you are such a sap so early in the morning.)) You answered with a “Yo.”

“Hi.” Karkat answered quietly. It was really hard for him to be quiet, but when he achieved it, his voice dropped into this sexy, lower register. The purr sent shivers down your spine, and stopped your heart, and Karkat had no idea he was doing it.

“What's up bug?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Dude, it's like two-thirty in the morning.”

“You don't sound like you were fucking sleeping.”

“Maybe this is my sleepy voice.”

“Like hell it isn't.”

“How would you know Vantas? You've never had the opportunity to wake up with it now have you?” _(Shut up Strider shut up shut up that was so not smooth oh my god...)_ you chided yourself.

“Well of course I haven't fucking haven't you pervert, why is everything about sex with you? I swear to dickmuching gods, why the hell did I even call you. Looking for an outlet to get some goddamned relief here and I can't fucking find some. I knew that I wouldn't be able to get a damn thing from you without teasing and general asshat-ery...”

“Whoa what was that again?”

“Thanks for interrupting me fartcrack, I'll just wallow in my own stupidity now, there is no use to it, my dick will deflate and I'll just die...”

“Man either you are trying to booty call me or your Freud is showing hardcore man.”

“...What?”

“What?”

There is silence on the other side of the call, and even though for a moment it felt like he was sitting in the room with you, the fact there was awkward silence and a phone in your ear has you nervous as hell. A simple click and no doubt you would drive all the way over to his side of town to wake up his whole house. That conversation went downhill so fast, Usain Bolt was left choking on dust in it's wake and Obama had to wipe his brow because the republicans vetoing free health care weren't nearly as cold-hearted as this sudden chill, that now existed over phone lines. You didn't know what the hell to say to break this silence. A joke or honesty?

“Are you booty calling me, Vantas?” came out of your mouth instead.

“No, what...!”

“Shush man or you are going to wake Aradia."

An angry growl came from the other side of the phone, “... No it isn't.”

“It totally is.”

“Fuck you.”

“That is what I'm offering here man.”

“No seriously fuck you as in fuck off.”

“Alright if that's what you want.

“Argh!”

You chuckled at his frustration, glad you ended the silence, “Man you are wound so tight, it isn't even hard to rile you up.”

“Fuck me.”

“Gladly.” (You are now damning your libido to hell.)

“... Really?”

Your brain halted. There was a track of hope in his voice that didn't escape you. What if, on the off chance, it really was a booty call? He wanted that kind of relief from you? Not that you didn't want that from him, but you were thinking more in the long run. Your mind gave a tick letting you know that thinking about this couldn't happen right now, he needed an answer, and the silence was going to turn awkward again.

“Depends, bro, how many 20's you got on you?” _(Dam_ _n your libido to hell!_ _)_

“Me? I'm fucking broke as hell,” Karkat said, catching on (you hope) to the joking tone, “but I could probably raid Gamzee's wallet, if that's what you want.”

Wait. “Gamzee?”

“Yeah, he's fucking passed out on the couch with Tav for the millionth night in a row, and wouldn't even blink about his wallet being about a hundred dollars lighter.”

His voice sounded angry, under toned with defeat, and totally serious. “How long has he been over?” you asked, trying to stay mild, and not like you were already ready to rip Gamzee limb from limb.

“Comes in about two in the afternoon like he owns this shithole and stays until early morning. Rinse and repeat.”

“For how long?”

“A good stretch of time now. I've lost track.”

That would explain the reason he's so wound up. For the past who-knows-how long, he's been stuck in his room, working on probably-almost-impossible-for-him-without-Captor coding, on shitty internet, or bored out of his skull and stuck in one of his trashy romance novels he keeps hidden under the bed, and low cell service. It's amazing the call hasn't hung up yet.

“Earth to Strider? You fall asleep?”

“No. Man that's shitty. He has his own house.”

“I don't care anymore. I really need some company though. So seriously, are you going to come over here, or not?”

“Who ever said I was coming over?”

“You've implied this whole conversation that you were 'down to fuck' or at least okay with seeing me.”

“You know going to get an English degree might be a better route for you than coding. All this implying shit. Might as well be dissecting the Odyssey here, professor I believe that Homer was trying to make a statement about humanity and how everyone's life is based off temptation, and that choice doesn't really exist.”

“Bullshit, you've never even read the Odyssey have you?”

“Does spark notes count?”

“No, you flying mushroom, now are you coming over or not?”

“No way in hell am I going over to your place man.”

“I thought...”

“Listen man, it's nothing against you and everything against the drugged out assholes on your couch. But like I say every time we talk, my door is always open to you. I'll be waiting in the window like a dutiful house wife for you even, in a frilly pink apron, only a frilly pink apron, mind you.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too babe,” left your mouth before you could even stop it, and your cheeks decided to coordinate with your unintended declaration just for the occasion.

“Yeah, whatever asshole. Ugh, just gotta get past Gamzee, he's such a light sleeper...”

“You're seriously coming over?”

“Yeah... if you want... I mean unless you were...”

No, no, precious baby, yeah you meant it, hella meant it. He needs out of that apartment. “Yeah I meant it. I was checking if that's what you really want.”

“Maybe, I don't know. Can we really...?” His question hung in the air. He sounded so nervous.

“Whatever you want Karkat.” No nicknames or goofing around. Just one hundred percent sincerity. You knew that if you gave him the reins he'd freak out over this a little less. Or a little more. It might be iffy with sex possibly in the picture. You stayed quiet, waiting for his answer.

“Okay. Okay. I'll be over in about fifteen.”

“See you in fifteen.”

He hung up and the dial tone rang through your ear as you kissed any normal relationship with him goodbye.

…

You pull on some cleaner clothes from your floor, a sweater and baggy jeans. You stuff your laptop and it's charger cord into a backpack, along with a spare set of clothes that you thought you might need (hoped you might need, was nervous you might need?) You might end up getting laid tonight after all.

Sex with Dave.

Oh god.

You weren't sure how sex even came out of a conversation were you just wanted to talk. At this point though you weren't even sure what you wanted to talk about with Dave, other than just the same old bullshit that had you spinning in circles before, time and time again. You were more relieved that you now had an excuse, an escape from this apartment, and a friend (more than friend?) to give you some relief from your exile. Possible physical relief.

You continue to try and process the thought of sex with Dave. It sounded far more appealing than perhaps you thought it should, but even you had to admit he was charming and more than insanely attractive. Actually, the more you thought about it, there was nothing in the world that sounded better right now than sex, and no one else you would rather do it with.

You slip on your converse and creep out into the hallway. You walk down to place a sticky note on the inside of Aradia's door saying “I'm at Dave's, love Karkat” where Gamzee wouldn't find it. From there it was a short walk to the front door. You walk silently past the lovers on the couch, not daring to look at them, grab your keys from the hook by the door, and step out into the Texan air. You can feel the cold, hard, purple eyes stare at your back, even after you've closed the door.

The drive to Dave's is an instinctual blur all covered with a glaze of anxiety.

And before you know it you are at his door.

You hesitate to knock, it's only been ten minutes since you talked to him on the phone. You had sped all the way here.

What for?

You doubt yourself. What did you think would actually happen? Surely he was kidding when he said he'd fuck you, your experience with Terezi and Gamzee has taught you as much that you are an undesirable sack of shit. He was kidding, probably. He is always kidding, he's worse than Egbert. You were just friends, and he invited you over. At three am.

Your thoughts are shocked out of your head as he opens the door.

“I was going to be nice and wait for you to knock when I saw you drive up, but man you're just standing there.”

He was naked save for a pair of sweatpants, and a dumb ass beanie. You had seen him swimming, but man he was so much more ripped now than he was then. He could flip you over his shoulder a hundred more times without tiring. Or throw you against a wall.

Oh God.

“Hey... Karkat.”

“What?”

“Are you trying to freeze my tits off or are you coming in man?”

“What tits? And it's Texas, it's not even cold out here.” Your automatic response to being teased kicks in, biting back with anger, and you don't think you've ever been more grateful for it than now.

“You are the one wearing like, four layers of sweaters. Regardless though you'll freeze over eventually, and here I am offering my humble abode to you, yet you continue to stand outside.”

“Yeah like hell you're offering, you tool.”

“Hey, you called me.” Dave was short and curt, just looking at you, waiting for you to make the move. You couldn't move. You're frozen in place and suddenly everything seems really far away and impossible. What if you did this? It was gonna wreck you again, wasn't it? It was going to destroy what you and Dave have. Could you even do this? If you turned away now was it just going to make it worse?

“Karkat. KARKAT.” Dave snapped his fingers in front of your face, bringing you back.

“What!?”

“Come inside.” He takes you gently by the hand, and leads you inside his doorway. You follow without a fight, glad someone else has the capacity to think where you do not. He drops your hand as you cross the threshold and walk just a little beyond the door. His hand was warm. You instinctively drop your bag under the coat hooks to the left of the doorway, and toe off your socks and shoes. You turn to look at him, watching you. He walks toward the spot you're frozen in, invading your personal space bubble, reaching behind you to close the door, subsequently backing you up against it, gaze steady on you all the while, saying nothing. Your anxiety turns to more of a nervous anger.

“Oh my god. Why the fuck did I have to make the trip over here?” You twist away to escape and he throws up his other hand. “You know what, you're lucky I even showed up, what a waste of my time,” you ramble, not sure what you want.

“Shh. Hey.”

“WHAT!?” You reach a peak and you think you might start screaming. You can't decide what you want, knowing that you want him but scared of what will happen, and your head hurts so bad.

“I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do.” He says softly. “Whatever you want tonight Karkat, I can oblige.” He says softly. It brings you out of your head some.

“Can you back off then?” you snap at him.

He backs away with an “Absolutely. Sorry,” giving a fair distance between the two of you, and you are grateful and sad at the same time. You like it when he's physically close to you. He stands there and waits for your call. You practice taking deep breathes until you can speak again.

“I don't know.” you say.

“What are you confused about? I might have an answer.”

“What if...?”

“If?”

You grunt in frustration. “You know what if asshole. It's gonna kill what we have, I know it.”

“Kill our friendship? By having sex?”

“Yes.”

“That's not true. It won't change anything if you don't want it to.”

“Sex always changes things. It's a romantic trope that matches real life extremely well.”

“You don't have to have sex with me then Karkat, if you're afraid of it changing anything in ways you don't want.”

“But you want to have sex with me, otherwise you wouldn't have invited me over.” You don't know why you said it, but you needed a counter. Panic isn't ebbing any, because you didn't want things to be this awkward, but you can't go home. Your thoughts are spilled and scattered like beans.

“No.” He shouts, and you are shocked for the second time tonight. He continues quietly, “I'm sorry I keep bringing up sex because I thought that was what you wanted. Let me make it clear that what I really wanted was you out of that apartment, away from Gamzee and yes, here with me. But I didn't invite you because I want sex with you, but because I care about your well-being, and you aren't in a healthy state of mind in that apartment. I want you to be happy, and not have to worry. I thought it would be best for your health to be here instead. I'm sorry if it's not now.” He's rambling and getting more nervous, and drawing upon the LaLonde side of his family. He hates showing he's just as psychologically smart as the female side of his family, not quite as bad as Rose, but he can tell on a surface level what someone's issue is. He had you pinned from the beginning and he always knows how to make you feel better.

The thought of him being Rose in any way shape or form makes you want to giggle and the thought of him in a purple headband makes you giggle. Your scattered thoughts pull on the image; he could actually really use one right now. His hair is hanging in his eyes, his shades useless at this point with the natural barrier in the way. But you can still see, he's got worry etched on his face, he's looking at you with concern and something deeper. A desire lit underneath him you can't name. But it's got him on fire and your mind draws back on his explanation. He wants you, for you. Because he cares about you. He's put himself mostly aside, to make sure you're okay.

Just like he's always done. Your anxiety starts to ebb. You have a hard time trusting others, but Dave's proved time and time again that's he's not going to ever intentionally hurt you. Your breathing stats to even, and you watch him straighten.

“May I?” he says quietly. Impatient as ever, to get an answer from you so he can figure out what move to make next, but he's already decided, he's knows what to do next. And he still asks.

“Depends on what 'May I?' is.” You answer him slouched against the door. You watch him take a step toward you, and you nod that he can come closer. He steps back into your bubble and takes his hand into yours. It's warm and it's firm and it's squeezing. It's like when you have anxiety at home and Aradia hands you some warm drink. It works like a charm every time, when your sister notices, and sometimes she notices before you ever do. The heat from Dave's hand is doing much the same thing now.

“Is this okay?” He asks you.

“Yeah.” You answer. You lean from the door, and lean to set your head against his chest. He's even warmer there, and you lean into his whole body with yours. His other arm wraps around you, and the bind around your heart loosens a little, and the panic slips like sand from your mind. You are reminded that it's way too early in the morning for this shit and for the first time in a while you are safe, because you are with Dave. That there isn't any reason to panic, 'cause it's just Dave. He's the same little shit who likes to tease you, but never pushes beyond what you're comfortable with. The same man who knows what to do to comfort you, who always has his door open and his phone on, for you.

“Thank you.” You mumble into his chest. He utters a 'hmm' above you and continues to rub circles into your lower back.

“You okay?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You push regrettably away from him. Your head is clearer. Well, now your head is kind of full of warm fuzzies and is exhausted from your panic, but you kind of know what you want now. You just wanted Dave, and maybe a kiss.

Damn kisses sounded nice right now. You lean back against the door instead and breathe. The early morning hour has got your mind going down random tracks. He's still got your hand.

“Tired?” he asks.

“Yeah.” you answer.

“You want to sleep in the extra room, or share mine?” He's so good to you, too good to you. Backing totally off the idea of sex, cause it gave you a panic attack. Pity that you've got that sorted out now, and sex sounds wonderful again, like it had back in your apartment. _It's just Dave_ , you remind yourself.

“I don't wanna sleep.” You pull on you bottom lip with your teeth, and watch him cock an eyebrow at you. “Kind of just want... you.”

“Me?” he asks. You nod. “What about it changing something?”

“It's just you. Nothing can get worse, from what's changed between us now. And that's my fault. Besides there's no one I'd rather... um... it's not, I mean...” You stop your self from telling him all you thought, knowing that he's smart enough to have already pieced together your whole embarrassing spiel.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I just, I...” You stumble over yourself, starting to ramble, warm fuzzies in your head clouding thought, and butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. He smiles a little and your heart stops. Damn him.

You watch him rolls his pretty red eyes and duck his head lower to meet yours, causing your lips to meet. He molds them to fit yours, effectively shutting you up. He presses ever so slightly and then releases to hover in front of your face. You gasp a little for the air he stole from you, brain supplying a sappy analysis that could battle some of your rom-coms for the title of “the cheesiest.” Dave's lips were so soft, waxy with chap stick, kind, gentle. You were gonna melt.

“Okay, so, if you want sex, here's how it's going to work.” You pull yourself away from staring at his lips, to his eyes, trying to pay attention to what he's saying. “It's three AM on Sunday morning and I am down with whatever you want to do. You are in charge of this escapade, because I am willing to be whatever you need right now, and because I don't want to push anywhere you aren't comfortable. I'm not gonna lie, because it's three AM I can't read your mind, so I'm going to need you to vocalize what you want okay? Without me having to infer through half of the bullshit you tend to spew. If you want it, come and get it. Or if you want to talk, I am all ears. If all you need is a safe place to sleep and breath I can do that to. If you need me call me, no matter where you are, no matter how far, cause _baby there_ _ain't no mountain high enough...”_

“Okay I get it.”

“ _Ain't no river wide enough...”_

“Shut UP.”

“There ya go. Clear and direct just like that.”

You sigh, your head clearing, as Dave ruins your mood a little bit, but the butterflies were still there and you still wanted him more than anything. “I kind of hate it when you do that.”

“Yeah, but it made you smile didn't it?”

You become conscious that your face is indeed a little more lifted, and the nervous air that had surrounded you two is considerably lighter, easier. You can do this. You can do this.

You want him to kiss you again. But he's not gonna move without your say so. You take a deep a breath as you can.

“Kiss me stupid.” you say quickly.

You consider for the briefest second that you hoped he caught the comma that was supposed to be there, meant to insult him, but with the way he was attacking your lips you didn't think so. He was going to kiss you stupid. You are the stupid one, it is you. You are more than okay with this.

His lips pushed hard against yours, your eyes slipping shut. The door stands firm against your back, your hands clutching his, as he uses only his lips to warm you. Your cheeks flush a ruddy red, and he continues to move, sliding his soft lips against yours to slot your bottom lip between his and suck on it. You stretch your neck to better meet him, pushing back, tilting your head so his obnoxious nose isn't squished against your cheek, feeling his beard scruff scratch your face. Your hands detach from his to slowly, shakily, rest themselves on his broad chest, slide upward to feel his collar bones. He sighs through his nose, a low thrum in his throat. He nips your bottom lip and you groan. The blush spreads it's warmth from your cheeks to your ears, burning the sensitive skin.

It's slow, it's sexy, but damn you already need more, right the hell now.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pushing your front to his to feel his warmth again as it reaches inside and warms every corner of you, hands clenching his head to yours. You lick against the front of his mouth, asking him to open it for you, and not only being rewarded with a yes, but with his strong arms wrapping themselves around your middle, thumbs on the small of your back, kneading the tension there as you tiptoe to better get at his mouth. His tongue is slippery and wet against yours, tracing your teeth, tasting every corner he can reach. He flicks it behind your teeth, quick on your hard palate and you keen. He breathes into you, warm, tasting like bitter midnight coffee and the mints he ate to try and cover it up. Fucker.

You smack apart, dragging your teeth hard against his bottom lip to hear his moan. You lean a little bit away to try and catch your breath, but it doesn't last very long. He moves his hand up to trace your jawbone, your cheek bone, his hands large and rough from his dumb ass hobby of strifing. He draws you back in to peck you, then tilts your head to the side, kissing right underneath your jawbone. You gasp in delight, tipping back your head to expose your neck to him. His soft lips slide and stop to suck and teeth marks into your neck, marking you as his, and you sound like a third-rate porn star. Moans fall from your throat like a waterfall. His heartbeat is hard against yours, tapping out a beat faster than any rapper, his arms squeezing you tightly against him, and you can't breathe. You feel like the damsels awkwardly positioned on romance novels to have their backs arched farther than possible, head back and looking longingly into the distance. Except your eyes are closed and Dave is busy with your neck instead of staring at your cleavage.

Your binder pinches your sides, and you fear you are going to start hyperventilating if you don't get more air. You're pushed back just a bit so that Dave can suck a hickey into the very fore-front of your throat and. You. Do. Not. Care. You'll deal with it when you get there. Which might be sooner rather than later, cause you actually think you might continue to have issues if your binder continues to push on your ribcage.

You grab at his beanie to pull it off and tangle your fingers in his hair. There's a grunt that sounds like “ow” when you tug. Of course, he's got it clipped to his dumb head, cause he's too lazy to cut and dye his hair. Loser. He slips up to kiss you again, sliding and pecking over and over, catching little breathes in between every other one. You join him, breathing hard.

He looks at you, red eyes piercing, wanting. It frightens you a little, the intensity behind his gaze conveying some meaning beyond what you thought was happening. You were gonna need to talk about all this again later. Something had changed between the two of you, but maybe it wasn't something bad.

But that's later, not right now, sex now. You try to to think, try to urge him to touch you more, confused why he wouldn't go beyond kissing you. _Oh yeah,_ you think, _I gotta tell him._ Your confidence is kind of soaring, being placed in charge is helping, making you less scared to sleep with your best friend. Making you bold.

“Dave, let's go to your room.” You tell him between hard bruising pecks.

“Okay.” He backs away from you and grabs your hand, sliding his fingers between yours, the only spot of warmth left in a suddenly very cold room and pulls you around the corner and down the hall of his apartment to his room at the end.

You step inside and walk around the cables on the floor, and whatever other random shit he's left in here. He drops your hand again and goes to his bed to dump his shit off. You walk over to his desk and see he's left one of his sketchbooks open. You see doodles of scenery and other random shit he's got around his room, but towards the bottom of the page there are mouths and smiles and your gross face. And your ass.

Ah. It's a little reassuring that he's thought of you like that already. In fact you feel immensely more at ease knowing he likes the way you look at least, enough to draw you, obviously on his mind and attracted to you. Hmm. You get caught up with the thought questioning just how much he might be into you. _Probably not_ _as much as you'd like,_ your traitorous mind threatens trying to ruin your mood. You frown and tell your brain to shut the hell up. You were tired of thinking.

You feel his warm chest come and cover your back, arms wrapping around your front and placing themselves over your lower stomach, sending a thrill through you. He places small kisses to the nape of your neck and you shiver. You place a hand to the back of his head, holding him in place and ask him to bite you. He complies quickly and chomps down, and then sucks hard at the spot, stealing away your air.

Yeah that binder needs to come off like right the fuck now.

“Dave, stop.” To your credit he stops sucking hickeys into your neck, holding his hands simply on your sides, breathing hard. You turn around in his grip and face him, seeing a hard blush cover his cheeks and the top of his ears. He radiates heat and comfort, and patience as he waits for you to tell him what you want him to do. You silently take his hands and place them on your stomach, underneath your sweater. You moan for him, loving the skin contact, loving having your stomach touched. It's one of your favorite kinks, having attention payed there. You aren't sure why. Actually it's just that you give zero fucks about why, and you aren't going to be shy about it either.

He picks up your obvious hint and pets lightly, drawing his thumbs down your abdomen, dipping one finger into your bellybutton. You moan when he pushes a little harder, trying to urge and get more of a reaction out of you. It's so, so good. He let's his fingers trail and push father out, tracing around your waist, fingers tickling your sides a little bit. You let a couple of shaky bursts of air pass your lips, feeling a smile form on your face, and Dave's receiving smile in your hair. He pulls away and kisses you soft and sweet before he drops to his knees and places a kiss to your stomach, between where his thumbs were resting. You gasp, surprised at his decision, one you didn't even have to vocalize. He busies himself with marking up your stomach, lips rougher on your tummy than they felt on your mouth, his beard scruff harsher, trying match the bruises he's put all over your neck. You deduce that giving you hickeys might be his favorite thing to do.

You busy yourself, feeling around the edges of his beanie gently, finding the tricky little bobby pins the fucker puts in there to keep it on his head, but make it totally look like he just tossed it on, pretentious, vain, little – OH. God. You aren't sure what he did while you were lost in your train of thought, but there's was a bruise on your left hip now where he's pushed down your pants an inch or two and your voice is pitching higher and higher as he continues to fucking bite, making a meal out of your skin. You hurry and find the pins and pull them with shaky careful fingers, and when you've found them all (there were fucking eight of them, what the hell) you pull it off his head and knot your fingers in his hair, holding his head to your stomach. He hasn't cut or dyed his hair in months it seems, his black roots giving a prominent show, and he looks so scruffy and disheveled, different from his normal carefully handsome appearance. He's possibly even more attractive this way. You love it.

He begins to lick his way down your happy trail and nips our lower stomach. You let an embarrassing squeal escape through clenched teeth and your lungs stop working all together. You start to cough and shake. Your body informs you that it's had enough of the binder crushing your ribs, no matter how excellent it was, and that you haven't had a deep breath in four days. You gasp for air, and you are glad that Dave stops. He looks up at you with concern and you shake your head to clear it and start to breathe shallow, slowing yourself down. Dave stands.

“Are you okay? Should I be getting you to a hospital instead?”

“No. Just give me a minute okay?” Dave nods, his hands don't leave you, but gives you space to get your breathing back under control, and his panic to ebb. For you this isn't the first time. You usually never take off your binder, out of bad and lazy habit, and general mistrust. But if you were going to continue, it's gonna have to go. But you didn't worry too much around Dave. You binder usually came off when it was just you and he. You trusted him with that completely.

You look at him after your breathing returns to normal and tiptoe up to kiss him lightly. He kisses back carefully, like he's trying not to break you.

Fuck that.

You aggressively bite his lip, sure you've got enough in you to make your point before your lungs remind you again that you can't breathe correctly. You tongue your way into his mouth and coax his to lick back up behind your teeth again. You liked it when he did that. He receives the message and no longer holds you like something fragile. You reach your arms around his lower back, and then decide that his ass would feel nicer. You drop the beanie you had curled in one hand and reach to grab at the glorious muscle there. He grunts and groans when you kneed your fingers a bit and smirk, breaking off the kiss. He looks and you and grins, proceeds to run his fingers up your stomach causing you to gasp.

He pulls your shirt up and off over your head, and you stand before him in your binder. He's seen it before, but never on you. He runs his fingers around all sides, confirming it was the stretchy one piece. He rests his fingers on the bottom and pushes it a bit but stops. You wriggle, but he looks at you nervous.

“Is this okay?” he asks. You're not sure for a moment why he feels the need to ask, but then remember that he wanted to make sure that you didn't do anything you weren't comfortable with. But you've been around him with your binder off before. He looks at you. “Just trying to make sure.” He mumbles.

“Yeah, it's alright.” You say looking at him. “It's more uncomfortable right now with it on. Besides, I trust you.” Dave's eyes flash and something changes behind them. You're not sure what. It was the same intense look before that scared you a little, but no matter. You meant it, you trust him more than you would like to admit.

He pushes underneath your binder stretching it away from the bottom of your ribcage and you reach down to the top to start pulling it up. You get it about half way there, when he moves to pull it off the rest of the way over your head and outstretched arms. Your breasts bounce free and you moan at the precious ache of air that fills your lungs and the lines the stitching left on your skin after being there for too long pressing you down. You cross you arms over your chest, cold and sore and regret that you don't take that damn thing of more often.

You reach careful fingertips, your head resting against Dave's chest, around and rub at the sides of your boobs where the ache is most prominent. He pushes careful fingertips at your back, as you take advantage to take deep breaths of cool air. He's got a fan going in the window, and despite it still being the city, it's the cleanest air that's graced your lungs in a long time. Your fingers move from sides to the bottom, around to the top, massaging the stupid chest fat, to relax the muscles underneath. Dave pulls back nuzzling the side of your face until you look at him. His hands cover where yours are on your chest.

“May I?” he asks, so quietly, the words carefully constructed in case they come out wrong.

“Yeah,” you tell him. Your hands drop to grip the desk again and he cups a breast and jiggles it.

“You look so weird with boobs man.”

“Gee thanks! That's kind of the point of the binder.” You smack him upside the head. It sends him forward into your chest and he snickers. You roll your eyes and he fucking _nuzzles_ underneath one boob. What a nerd. But he takes one sore breast and rolls it in his hand and you forget to be mad at him. Something slippery and wet finds it's way to your left nipple and you gasp at the wet warmth that surrounds it. Dave rolls your other nipple between his finger and it feels like heaven. You've never had your breasts played with like this before. You kept your binder on with every other partner you've had (not that there has been many but whatever) and you don't regret it. This is probably something you'd only let Dave ever do anyway.

You sound like such a sap but it's true. He gets away with a lot more shit around you than anyone else, but that's because you trust him to never intentionally hurt you. He was your safe spot in this shitstorm, proving himself time and time again to be a genuine person, and to truly care for his friends, and for you. You're not sure why you were panicking earlier, it seems so silly now. If tonight doesn't prove it you weren't sure what else would; Dave was here for you, and he wasn't ever going to intentionally hurt you. He moves his mouth from one nipple to the other, and takes with him your muscle’s ache from the binder. He sighs against you and something in your stomach flutters. He's kind of perfect to you, not without his faults, he does like to poke and tease, sometimes too far, but still. You feel like this is taking you on an emotional roller coaster you're not entirely sure is stable but you're enjoying it, and enjoying him. You feel kind of bad, using and asking him for sex. If you're honest with yourself, then it was a mutual agreement, but you're never all that honest with yourself.

“Yo, earth to Karkat?” Dave asks. He trails his mouth down and nips lightly on your stomach, to catch your attention.

“Nng. What?”

“There he is. You with me man?”

“Yeah, sorry. Thinking.” He is continuing to use his face to nuzzle you. It's weird. It's distracting. There is a heat swirling in the pit of your stomach that feels like someone slapped a hot water bottle there.

“Jeez man. Here I am working my tail end off to make you feel good, and you're just of thinking.”

“Mmm.” Fuck him for trying to hold a conversation now when every other sentence of his is punctuated with kisses under your boobs and on your stomach, sucking lightly. You were gonna need to have a word with him about a hickey limit, you swear to god.

“Are you okay?” Dave looks at you concerned again. “Is this okay?” He asks, and you want to kick him.

“Yes and Yes, dickwad! I'll tell you when you're trying to cross a line okay?”

“Just checking. You stopped making noises, how am I supposed to know?”

“Sorry. I'm just- WILL YOU STOP!” Dave gave a full laugh as he pinched a nipple. “Fucking ow, bitch.”

“Then pay attention to me.” He whines. God you take back everything you just thought. “It's my job right now to bring you out of your head space, or did I read the intent of this adventure wrong?”

“No,” you sigh, “You're right. Come here.” you pull him up, deciding you've had enough of him marking you up for now. You like warmth sitting in your lower belly, and knew it would stay there for a while. You really ought to thank Dave for the countless hickeys that dot from your neck to your lower stomach now. For the love of god you know you have thinner skin but the sheer number you think you can feel is ridiculous.

“Thank you.” You tell him in sincerity. His face just blushed hard and he nods. Dork.

You reach between you two for his sweat pants and feel for him. You choose to mouth at his collarbone and rub at his crotch mound, drawing your nails down his back. He moans and buries his face and hands in your hair. You trail your fingers just under the waste band to tease him and draw your nails down his back again, harder this time. His air escaped and he moaned louder.

It seemed the bitch like to take as good as he gave when it came to rough, painful marks. Good cause your impatience to get on with it was growing, and because of that you didn't have nearly as much time to mark him with your mouth. Your nails would have to do. You scratch the hell out of his back and bring your nails down his chest, while leaving your own bruises on his collarbone and neck. You suck a very prominent one at the front of his throat, and push his pants down. He concocts for you a symphony of sounds, showing you how much he appreciates this turn of events.

His dick is warm and hard in your hands. You can't see it where you are buried in his neck but it feels heavy in your palm and you can tell he isn't cut. You look down to see it. It's thicker than you think you might be used to, but it doesn't matter really. With the wet leaking all over your boxers, he shouldn't be a problem. You roll his foreskin away from the head and watch the head make it's appearance. You smirk a little bit. It's already red and weeping, and he is gasping above you. It gives you confidence to know that he is so turned on, all because of you.

You drop down between his knees without warning, laughing as he falls forward and catches himself on his desk. You lean back to look at his face. He is giving you the dirtiest glare and you smile at him, turning your attention to his dick in your hands. You reach with our tongue and glue it to the underside of the head, and lick up. He gives a hardy groan and you suck the whole head in your mouth. He bucks and catches you by surprise. Excited little shit _almost_ got his dick about bitten off and that would have pissed everybody off. You take it out of your mouth and take your nails to his hips, digging in dragging them down his thighs. He groans an apology and you take him in your mouth again.

You are fully aware that you aren't good at giving blowjobs, but he's been so good to you, you are going to try anyway. You focus on keeping your teeth out of the way, laving attention on the tip. Your hand twists around his base, and he stands upright to push his hands through your hair. You can't possibly fit the whole thing in your mouth, but that seemed fine. He smells musky and his skin tastes salty from the pre he's already leaking. You pull him out and reach your face underneath to give a hardy suck to his balls. His moans turn into word vomit. You tune him out, place open mouthed kisses up his length, getting him wet and shiny. You find your mouth enveloping his dick again, and look up at him through your lashes. He is covered in a flush and his bottom lip is sucked in between his teeth. He moans your name and it causes the heat in your belly to stir, and you give him an answering groan.

You are being pulled by your hair off his dick.

“You're precious, perfect but stop, stop, I'm gonna blow it I swear to god you are so sexy, but I don't want to come yet...”

“You're already that close?” you ask him, interrupting him.

“Oh god, sorry, yes.”

“Wow.”

“It's not my fault, it's been a while.” He pulls you to your feet and hugs you close, hips tilted away from you, face hiding in you neck. “And it's not fair, you are so sexy, so fucking sexy...”

“Thanks.” you say, letting him breath in your neck to calm himself down. You feel so damn good. You almost got him to cum in probably record time. You laugh and he peeks at you from his hiding spot.

“Fuck you.” he says.

“Yeah, trying to get you to that.” He chuckles with you, and you aren't sure what's so damn funny but it is. He moves to bring your face with his and you smile between his kisses, letting ridiculous giggles come from your throat. His hands find your ass and he squeezes, giggles giving way to gasps.

“Your turn. If I may.” He asks.

“Oh god yes.” You answer.

He lifts you up and carries you the short way to the bed. You fall back, your knees hanging off the edge as he settles between them. His bed is warm and covered in soft fuzzy blankets that feel like heaven on your back. His fingers undo your belt buckle and the button. He traces the bottom of your stomach and reaches underneath with warm fingers. You feel a bead of sweat roll down your face, and you hadn't even realized you were that warm. His hands grab your jeans and boxers both and you help him wrestle them off. He resettles between your legs and you hoist yourself on your elbows to watch him. His gaze travels up your body, your blood rushing to every surface available. He doesn't move and your embarrassment starts to hit it's max limit, before you turn snippy.

“Wow,” he says, “Was a water bottle leaking in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Brat, that kind of joke barely works when there is a dick present.”

“Fine then, I'll be blunt. Wet much?” He laughs at you.

“Yes asshole. And it's all your fault.”

“Mmm. Good.”

He moves fast and dives right in giving a broad lick across your slit, and your retort falters. He leaves you just as quickly to grab one thigh and push it out so he can suck at the junction. Fuck, you were gonna need Advil from all his fun marking you. A keen escapes as his fingers explore and pinch the other thigh. You twitch when he drags a finger up your slit again, venturing carefully. He backs off quickly, reading your twitch wrong, but a growl from your throat brings him right back, aggressively dragging two fingers now to feel just inside of you. Your breathing picks up; you had forgotten how sensitive you were. It's been a while for you too. He's such a good boy, his fingers find your clit in record time and he flicks it once. You yell and let him know he's done well, a plus, he passed the test. He switches hands so he can mark up your other thigh with his mouth and focuses his fingers to go back to stroking just outside, teasing you. You swear when he flicks your clit again and then you also become guilty of word vomit.

He has you begging for his mouth, what had your dumb life come to? Your head is filled with heat and buzzing, and you fall onto your back, sweating into the fuzzy blankets beneath you. He says something, and you just hump his hand where he's currently cupping you with it, running fingers just over your clit, not even processing what he's saying. He responds in kind, despite you not hearing what he said, slipping his hand down and easing two fingers inside of you.

You writhe, fisting hands in the bedding and your upper register really makes itself known. You give a thought to all the unlucky neighbors that have to experience you and Dave right now. You know you're really loud and oops, so is he it seems. All well. There's a warm wet heat surrounding all 8,000 little nerves at the top of your sex and fingers stroking inside you, you're entitled to be loud. You recognize the searching stroke pattern to Dave's fingers and you roll your hips down to help him find your sweet spot. He strokes his fingers just right and you scream. You feel like you're toeing the edge of a very tall building. Your stomach keeps getting tighter and there's a thrill, like vertigo, at the top of your spine. You feel Dave's breath as he pulls back for air.

And then it's a straight up assault. It's like he _wants_ you to come now. You writhe on his bed your face drenched in sweat, and you can smell him in the blankets around you. He's got his arms around your thighs, holding them open to prevent you from squeezing his head, and he's tongue fucking you. The burning in your stomach spreads down. He moves one arms to put his hand on your stomach, to stop you from humping him you think, but that's it. You're going to come, but you don't want that yet. Gotta find the words, tell him to stop.

“Please Dave.” You smack around for his head between our thighs, grab him by the hair and pull. “Stop Dave, Stop now. NOW.” You are screaming. He backs away, dropping your thighs and looks up at you. You've let him go to knot all ten fingers in the bedsheets, and your back is arched and you are fucking trying to calm down. The cold air stings you underneath but it helps. It might be ridiculous at this point, and you should probably just let him finger you, you are right there, so close, but your spine is already relaxing and the heat is lessening. It won't take long again to work you up, and that's the point of stopping now.

Dave comes and hovers above you. “Dude, you okay?”

“Stop asking that.”

“You were fucking screaming at me to stop, I'm kind of panicking.”

“Chill. I just didn't want to come yet.”

“Oh.” He watches you, sweat covered and breathing hard, and smirks. You frown at him. He leans down to kiss you, helping the fingers of one hand unclench so he can hold it. Your heart turns into a puddle inside you chest and kiss him back. It's slower, it's sweeter, helping you calm down further. He licks at your mouth and pulls back.

“Better now?”

“Yeah.” He leans into kiss you again, but you think better of it and push him back.

“What?” he asks.

“You taste bitter and like me, it's gross and weird.”

“Gee I wonder why?” He wiggles his eye brows at you and you scoff to cover your laugh. You feel like you're glowing. So fucking cliché, but there it is.

“Shut your face up and fuck me before I change my mind.”

“Yes sir. Give me a second.” He moves over to his bedside table and you're grateful. You're on the pill but you can never be too careful. You scoot up his bed to lay down properly and make room for him. You hear him prep himself and wait. You're so tired, it's so early in the morning, but there's still a warmth in your tummy and a burn at the top of your spine that needs igniting. He crawls up to you and settles between your legs.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Front or back?”

  
“Front.”

He positions himself. He holds your hip and rubs your clit, exciting you all over again. He rubs against you, it's slippery from the lube he covered himself with. You appreciate it, but you're wet enough, you're leaking below onto the sheets. It's silly and you giggle when he tries to line up and push in but slips up, it brushes right on your sensitive bundle of nerves and you gasp. He sticks his tongue out at you, and tries again. He pushes in, filling you slowly, and it burns and it's wet, and the whole room smells like Dave and you suppose you must be in there too, but he's the one that matters. He gives a small thrust testing the waters and you see Dave in a whole new light.

He's so good and you're not sure this is not going to be the only time. You're damn well sure of that. You want him, all to yourself for the rest of forever. That's a scary thought, but you could care less as his hands caress down your sides and over your thighs.

He fucks you sweetly, drawing moans out of you and he's kissing you, and you think at some point he must have wiped his mouth off after eating you out because it's sticky but not nearly as wet. He feels big inside of you as he picks up the pace. You whimper as he moves, one of his hands holding himself above you, the other stroking your stomach, your clit, his mouth moving to kiss you simply along your neck. You lift your hips to start meeting him in the middle, to have him hit deeper inside you. He's mumbling things that you can't catch, words in your ear that sound like “fantastic” and “gorgeous” and you're gonna get a cavity if he keeps being so sweet. You're already losing your mind as it is, having him fuck you. You don't need compliments too, but having him tell you as such drives your desire higher.

You scream though clenched teeth when he aims right and hits your sweet spot, which you guess must have been his green light to pound into you, and he's got his thumb on your clit. It's ridiculous how sensitive you are, cause you're wound tight all over again, except you feel so much fuller, receiving hit after hit of his dick, hard to your sweet spot. You love this, you missed him, and you had no idea you wanted this. And on the one hand you want it to never stop, but you can feel exhaustion start to seep into your bones. You growl and moan at him, shoving away your tired, refusing to be a pillow princess. You push yourself up to meet him, feeling the air cool the sweat that coated your skin, where it was pushed against the blankets. The strokes to your clit are sending painful sweet shocks through your system. You look above you, your nail digging into his forearms and you're satisfied to see he's panting as much as you are and shaking. He doesn't stop or slow down, and you can feel your orgasm build, pushing at your heart and in your stomach. He's gives one more hard thrust and you're gone.

It seers down your back like fire and your back arches, thighs clenched around him and you're screaming his name cause you are sappy shit. Whatever, he should know you're thinking about him, he deserves it. He doesn't stop despite your squeezing around his neck. You can't hear anything. At some point during your white out, Dave wrapped his arms around your back while it was arched. He's moving slowly, rocking gently to a halt, burying himself in you, face in your chest. He moans and you can hear your name as he comes. You can feel your heartbeat in every nerve, and his against your skin where he holds you. He says something else, and you're not sure whether or not you heard that right. You're too busy shaking.

You come down slowly, your head buzzing and hearing still muffled. He pulls out and lets you go, falling to the side so as not to crush you. You're grateful. You're having a hard enough time breathing as it is. The universe is conspiring against your oxygen intake today. You lie there, gaining back your air and your mentality. It's quiet and you're not sure if you've gone deaf or that the night is just still until Dave speaks.

“Are you alright?” he says, and you hear it clear as a bell.

“Yeah.” you say but it's a small squeak. You clear your throat and try again, “Yes.”

“Okay,” he says. He moves off the bed, shifting over you, and you watch him cross the room. He cleans himself off and leaves the room naked. Lucky asshole has the apartment all to himself. He leans against the walls as he goes, as you feel smug knowing that he is having a hard time walking. He comes back with a washcloth and reaches in between your legs again. It's warm.

“Did the condom break?”

“No. Just figured you might not appreciate being sticky.”

“Thank you. For this.”

“Any time.”

He moves out of the room to throw the washcloth somewhere and you move to lie on your side. This proves to be a bad idea. Everything hurts, your hips are killing you and your spine feels ripped to shreds. A sigh escapes your lips as he re-enters the room.

“Up to you, but if you want to sleep in the guest bedroom, it's much cooler in there than it is in here and it stinks a little less. Plus the window faces away from where the sun is going to rise here in a little bit.”

“You kicking me out?”

“No, I was going to join you.” He says, “Unless you don't want... or something.” Aw he sounds like a kicked puppy. You also recognize that something's definitely changed between you too. But it's not bad. It's just hesitant, tentative. You can get past that.

“No, I want you with me.”

“Sweet.” He says. He's got a full body blush going on and a breathtaking, happy smile. It makes your heart pick up it's sluggish beat and you identify what that intense look in his eyes had been earlier. You feel intrigued, and hopeful, but also nervous. You two definitely need to talk soon.

“You gonna continue to look at me with those pretty eyes or are you coming?”

“I'm coming.” You try to sit up and groan as joints pop and snap themselves back into place. Everything is sluggish and slow and hurts like a bitch. You swing your legs over and stand, but not without trying to keel over first. You catch yourself on the nightstand, and Dave comes to lift you up off the ground. You accept this without complaint, your legs feel like jello. He bridal style carries you to the next room over, surprising you by not making any sort of comment or stroking his ego. He was good at sex, and you think he knew it too.

You're set on a bed that's bigger than his, it's neat and it's cold and it doesn't smell like Dave and you're not entirely sure why this upsets you. You're falling asleep and he's still moving around and it's ridiculous, how is he doing that. You feel like the minute you relax you're gonna fall to a billion well-fucked pieces. You don't lie down. You attempt to stand again, cause if he can, you can. It takes a minute but you manage to walk a bit to sit on the other side of the bed where you noticed a full length mirror. You're pegged curious.

And you were right. You are fucking _covered_ in bruises, from what you can see in the dim light from the hallway. No wonder you hurt so bad. They line the entirety of your throat and dot your chest. You've got bruises on your sides and hips that look like his fingers and bite marks on your thighs. You think someone has a fetish, Christ.

“Vain much?”

“Possessive much?” you answer him. “Are a thousand bruises enough to make me yours, or do you need more.”

“I don't know, your back is a blank canvas right now.”

“No.” You crawl back up the bad and collapse against the pillows. He chuckles and moves closer, dumping his blankets, that all smell like him, that sharp citrus smell that you've been buried in, on the bed and he crawls behind you. His arms wrap around your front and he kisses along the back of your neck.

“Let's go to sleep.” he suggests.

“Okay.” You follow him up, letting him wrap the blankets around you. You settle chest to chest and rest against him, slipping into sleep.

“You look fantastic by the way.”

“I thought we were sleeping?” You said disgruntled.

“I know. But I just wanted to tell you. I thought you'd be kind of chubby hanging around your house all the time.”

“You're impossible. First of all, fuck you, wait just did, check that shit off the list, and second of all, I'm insulted. I work out. I'm trapped in my room often enough, listening to music and exercising is distracting.” He just chuckles at you.

“Fine then. I should give you more credit than that.”

“Thank you.” You sound indignant. You snuggle into him. His arms wrap around you and kneed at the small of your back, tracing in circles. You start to slip when he speaks up again.

“Hey Karkat?”

“What now?” You give him a dirty look. You are tired and he is ruining your after glow. Doesn't matter if he's the one responsible for it.

“Would it be weird to ask for a date in the morning?”

The question catches you off guard, but not really. It had everything to do with the intensity of his stare tonight, that you caught a couple times, and felt in the way he fucked you.

“Like a date, date?” You ask.

“Like I want you to be my boyfriend, date?” He whispers it into your hair, afraid. The thought scared you a little bit too, to be honest. You don't answer. So you did hear an “I love you” earlier, when he came earlier, but he's too scared it seems to say it now. You understand, heat of the moment is one thing, but real life and rejection is hard. You struggle up through his arms to get at his face and kiss him softly. He's blanched, like he can't believe what he said, and it's funny to you. A giggle escapes you, seeing your best friend, usually emotionally strong and fearless, scared of what you could possibly say. Something releases inside your heart and you relax, melting from every bone and down into something you didn't know you were missing. Into something you needed.

You realize that you might be the center of his world right now. The way he looked at you, marked you, took care of you. He even harasses and teases you like you're in fucking high school. Hell, even half of his drawings were of you and you knew it. It scared you though at the same time, the love he had for you. It didn't take any of your problems away, and you knew it wouldn't, unlike so many of your romance novels. You still had so much to worry about, Aradia and Gamzee and work and school, and you hated yourself and the mistakes you've made. You've got a problem letting anyone close to you, afraid you'll fuck it up, but fuck, he already has his hands locked around your heart, the voice of reason in your head when you are not enough to talk yourself down. He makes you feel better, more capable, and seeing him makes your day, always. It's not a stretch to call it love from your end too.

Damn he's slept with you once and you are so easy. What the hell. Whatever.

“Sure.” you answer after sadness had begun to etch it's way onto his face.

“Wait, what?”

“Know I'm not an easy person to date, and I'm going to have issues, and I think this is pointless because you know that, but yes. Dave I’d fucking love to be your boyfriend.” He smiles at you and smashes your mouth to his, and squeezes you against his chest. He's feverish and he can't kiss you properly cause he's smiling so wide.

“Oh my god, I could probably jump for joy,” he says, breaking away from your mouth, “If it weren't for the fact I feel heavy as a rock.”

“How long have you been wanting to ask me?”

“Like three or four months.”

“Wow, and rather than ask for a date, you decide to fuck me first. I thought it went the other way around?”

“Well, after dozing for a couple hours, I'll make you breakfast. We could go out for dinner, whatever you want to do.”

“Sure. Now shut up bitch, you're ruining my afterglow. It's is way too early in the morning and I am fucking exhausted.”

“Sorry.” he whispers.

You sigh, letting him kiss you as you slip toward slumber. His eyes shine bright, lighting as the early morning sun creeps in the window. You are in your safe spot, with Dave, in his arms. As the sun rises, you watch him fall asleep, following quickly behind him. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on getting better, so go ahead and leave me constructive criticism in the comments below. Also feel free to call me out on anything offensive in the fic. Writing trans and anxiety is fairly new to me, and I want to make sure that no one is unintentionally hurt.


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